


Laser Tag

by malchanceux



Series: Red Hawk [4]
Category: DCU (Animated), Young Justice, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alien-invasion-ception, An alien invasion during a technical alien invasion, Child Abuse, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Superboy really needs to work on his social skills/team work capabilities, but that's okay because Tim does too, mentions of abuse, so that's a tag now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:58:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ambassador has the Humans all but eating out of the palm of his hand. The Young Justice team and what's left of the Justice League are doing the best they can with what they have, but they are losing ground to the politically savvy aliens fast and recovering little. But when a new force threatens the Reach's hold on Earth, they offer a temporary olive branch. The Reach sends the heroes their own champion, Red Hawk, with an answer to their mutual extraterrestrial problem. </p><p>“Great. Awesome, actually,” Kid Flash says, but his tone of voice does not reflect the optimism of his words, “So Earth’s going to be saved from one homicidal alien race trying to kill us all by another homicidal alien race trying to kill us all. Perfect. This just turned into a galactic pissing match. Just what we needed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I highly suggest reading the previous fic's in this series before starting this one.
> 
> Now remember: Batman stayed behind when the other Justice League members left for their "trial", and Tim's early childhood obsession extended beyond that of the Bat-family. It was heroes in general he stalked.

“They are parasites from a distant desert planet,” the Scientist says, bringing a few images up onto the holoscreen. The _parasites_ are insect like—relative to caterpillars with spider legs—with exoskeleton armor and a slim, short needle like mouth for latching onto and sucking its prey dry, “They came to Earth via meteorite crash. They do not seem intelligent enough to have consciously made this decision. It is mere coincidence they landed on Earth.”

More images flash onto the screen, this time of newspaper clippings. A meteor crash in Florida swamps, people flustered over the suddenness—weren’t they supposed to be warned about things so large flying into Earth’s orbit? The article focused on the complaints of the locals, and questions where all of NASA’s funding is going, exactly, if not to monitor _space._ Another news article quickly silences such petty gossip when the parasites start showing up in abundance, killing plant life at first, but quickly moving on to animals and humans. It takes only days for the host plants to die, but animals and humans fair better. It would appear the parasites notice this as well, as cases of plant host bodies soon become a thing of the past.

“We have no direct records of this species, though it is obvious that they multiply with great speed—a logical adaptation given the barren deserts they used to occupy. The Humans have taken to calling them _Buzzard’s_. Several of their own scientists have captured and dissected their own specimen with no success of finding a weakness—”

The Ambassador hisses in frustration, and the Scientist hurries to finish.

“—however, we have had a break through. I sent Black Beetle into the field to acquire more test subjects, during which he recorded an anomaly. A Buzzard attempted to anchor itself to a Human host, but quickly fled to another, rejecting the first Human. I had the Human brought in and ran a number of tests to see—”

“The _point_.”

The Scientist fumbled for a moment, glaring in obvious disdain but complying nonetheless.

“The point, as you will Ambassador, is that alcohol is the answer. Either dousing the Buzzard’s with the liquid, or having it in the blood stream of the host body will deter them immediately.”

The Ambassador stands silent for a moment, thinking. Tim wonders why alcohol has the effect it does, but knows better than to ask. Perhaps if he gets the Scientist alone he could inquire, she was obviously eager to share her findings. Science was her passion after all, was what she was good at—her title spoke boldly on that point, but Tim had also known her for _years;_ had studied her from afar. She liked to peacock what she knew and how.

The Ambassador turns sharply, a sly smile playing at his lips.

“Red Hawk, I have a mission for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim finally meets Superboy. Things don't go as smoothly as some would hope...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a really good Billy-centric fic and got a little bit of YJ muse off of it. It's called "Messing up a Messed Up Relationship" if you're interested.

The mission is… unexpected. Namely, it seems unorthodox. But Tim would never question his Master’s orders, and so he leaves immediately to complete the tasks assigned to him. It takes him a good hour to prepare—to trade in his usual arsenal for something he never thought he’d wield: nonlethal weapons.

His sword is replaced with a retractable staff, his usual bullets replaced with darts, his single gun replaced with two bulkier pieces holstered at his thighs, and his dark apparel is exchanged for a _costume:_ all red and black leather and spandex—domino mask and fireproof cape. Today he becomes a vigilante.

This will be his first mission fighting in the public eye. He supposes that is the point.

A boom-tube takes him to Happy Harbor, and schematics from Kaldur get him into Mount Justice without being detected. With Wolf, however, he doesn’t stay unnoticed long. His infiltration was designed that way.

Red Hawk enters through a kitchen vent, and stands stiff when Wolf wakes from his spot on the couch growling. He has been genetically altered to be stronger, faster, and smarter than average animals—Tim scans over Wolf as he stands and circles around the couch to face him, and catalogues all perceived weak spots for later reference.

A vicious bark alerts Mount Justices’ other occupants of his arrival.

Kid Flash is naturally the first to arrive, though Tim makes note of how he consciously keeps weight off his injured leg while he stands. His leg is braced, not in a cast—it’s the only reason he’s standing. The speedster is quickly followed by Superboy, who seems particularly on edge to see Red Hawk if his fists clenching at his sides is any indication.

Kid Flash is the first to break the charged silence.

“Whoa there squirt, how did you get in here?”

Tim stops his jaw from clenching, though just barely. He reminds himself that an emotional reaction to what is an obvious prod at his age and size is exactly what the hero is after. Instead, he simply points behind himself to the dislodged vent cover in the kitchen.

“Ooookay,” the speedster says, looking at the air vent dubiously, and then at Wolf, “There’s no way you had a super-secret way to bust in here without being noticed and then forgot we had a _super_ _sniffer_ on our team. Why are you here? And what’s with the sudden super hero gig you got going on?”

“The Ambassador has sent me to annihilate the Buzzard’s. I am to employ your help.”

“ _‘Employ our help’?_ ” Superboy bites out, body vibrating with tension. “You think we’re going to help you?”

“No,” Tim says calmly, “I _know_ you are going to help me.”

Superboy growls and steps forward menacingly, almost animalistic in his fury. Tim doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a move to protect himself. He was ordered to not harm the Young Justice team for as long as he needed them for the mission—no matter the circumstance. The Reach needed the Buzzard’s gone just as much as the humans _wanted_ them gone.

“Superboy,” the voice comes stern and uncompromising from behind Red Hawk, and this time he does flinch. Tim has never faced Batman in person, but his heart begins to race in his chest all the same. It is fear, he knows, but something else as well. Something he can’t quite identify, “That’s enough.”

Superboy obeys but does not calm down, is still openly hostile. Tim files the obvious weakness away for later, when they are back on opposing sides. Anger is an easy emotion to exploit.

In all the pictures Tim has seen of Batman, he is tall and imposing. Reality only serves to strengthen those qualities.

“The only way to extract a Buzzard once connected to its host is through surgery. It’s not always a success depending on where the parasite has attached itself and is time consuming, meaning we’re fighting a losing battle. You came here because the Reach has discovered a way to remove them more efficiently.”

It wasn’t a question, of course. A statement of fact. Tim would have expected nothing less from the Batman. Red Hawk nods an affirmative all the same.

“Great. Awesome, actually,” Kid Flash says, but his tone of voice does not reflect the optimism of his words, “So Earth’s going to be saved from one homicidal alien race trying to kill us all by _another_ homicidal alien race trying to kill us all. Perfect. This just turned into a galactic pissing match. Just what we needed.”

This time Tim’s jaw does clench. He can feel his lips thin and pull down slightly, has to consciously stop his hands from where they’re lapsing into fists. It was hard trained into him to _respect_ his Master, to not accept any less from the people he was serving. He had to remind himself of the mission, of what his Master wanted, before he could get his body to relax again.

Red Hawk reached for his utility belt and pointedly ignored the way Kid Flash and Superboy tensed. He pulled out a small, palm sized vial filled with clear liquid and held it out between his index finger and thumb.

“The Buzzard’s showed a distaste of alcohol and any hosts that had recently consumed it. My Master had this synthesized—something that would act as the alcohol did, but faster. One shot of this and the parasite will reject its host. I assume you have the equipment necessary to duplicate the solution?”

Batman took the vial and walked briskly to one of the computer panels, “Yes. But it’ll take time. Kid Flash, round up the rest of Young Justice. We’ll need everyone for this. And Superboy—keep an eye on Red Hawk. I’ll have to take the serum to Star Labs to get enough duplicated to even make a dent in the Buzzard’s number.”

Connor grunted in response, crossing his arms and standing firm as he glared at the self-proclaimed _Reach Elite._ Tim watched with little interest as Kid Flash ran out of the room, speed slowed considerably by the leg wound.

For a few minutes, they stood in complete silence. Tim didn’t mind. One of his first lessons was how to stay quiet and out of the way when he wasn’t needed, but Connor did not seem to be on par with his own training.

“You really hurt him, you know,” Connor snapped. He must have been referring to Kid Flash.

“I know,” Tim replied easily.

“’ _You know’?_ That’s all you have to say?” Connor hissed, “They weren’t even sure he’d be able to regain full use of his leg again.”

Tim wasn’t sure where Superboy was going with the accusations. Tim knew all of this already—he’d been the one to throw the knife. He knew there was a distinct possibility Kid Flash would be permanently put out of commission if the knife sliced through just the right tendon at just the right angle.

He looked the clone in the eyes and said, “I know. If not my singular goal, it would not have been an unwanted outcome.”

With an inhuman growl, Superboy lunged at him. Remembering his Master’s orders, Tim stood his ground and braced himself. The clone’s right hook caught him in the gut. Tim doubled-over gasping before a knee connected with his face, sending him hurling backwards through the air. He tasted a gush of warm iron in his mouth before he hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. He coughed, sputtered, jack-knifed up to spit out the blood. His face was on fire so he couldn’t pinpoint where the bleeding stemmed from, but he was pretty sure he bit through his cheek.

“Fight me!” Superboy screamed, grabbing hold of the front of Tim’s costume before tossing him, like a ragdoll, across the room. His body hit a wall and he heard something _snap._ He wasn’t sure if it was him or something he hit, but suddenly the room went out of focus and a sharp ringing took over his hearing.

“Fight me, damn it!” he heard Superboy scream again. He wanted to—he wanted to bring the clone _down_ and show him how to _really_ hit a target, but he wouldn’t. Those were not his orders.

Tim grit his teeth and repressed any pained noise he might make, slowly pulling himself together and off the floor. His cheek was definitely bitten through, his head throbbed, and his whole left side hurt from where it had slammed into the wall. Nothing felt broken though—nothing was serious. The _‘crack’_ had indeed been the wall, its plaster splitting and the thick concrete making itself known, not his body.

“What are you doing?” Conner growled, stalking closer. His eyes blazed with uncontained anger and his fists clenched. He pulled his arm back for another blow— _super strength,_ was all Tim could think, _this is going to hurt._

“Conner stop!” he heard Kid Flash yell from somewhere in the distance before an open-handed slap across the face sent him reeling, stumbling back to the ground. He was surprised by how much less force had been behind that hit than the others.

 _“Superboy,”_ Batman’s voice boomed even though it had not been raised. Conner flinched, moved back and away from Red Hawk as though he’d been burned.

 _Scolded,_ Tim thinks, _worse than burned._

Tim spat a mouth full of blood out, probed at the wound with his tongue as he used the wall for support to find his feet again.

“The hell was _that?”_ Kid Flash asked exasperated as he pulled Superboy further back by the shoulder.

“He said—” Conner hesitated, deflated—unsure of himself, “Why didn’t you _defend_ yourself?”

“That’s hardly the point right now Con—”

Superboy shrugged Kid Flashes hand off briskly, aggression returning in the face of his confusion.

_“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”_

There is silence for a beat then, charged and suspended. Batman comes closer then, puts a hand on Superboy’s shoulder—this one the clone will not just shrug off. Conner does not relax but his body loses its battle-ready stance. For a moment it is assumed that the silence will be their only answer, and Kid Flash moves to turn away—to return to his assigned duties. Tim should stay quiet, it’s the smart thing to do. The situation has been dealt with and there is no need for him to speak. That was one of his first lessons: when to speak, when not to, when to move out of the way. He knew that lesson well, he had mastered it by now and yet—

“I have my orders,” he says, and his voice is low and he swallows more of his own blood in a nervous gesture he was broken of years ago. His heart is beating wildly in his chest; he’s still a little out of breath. He is a mess.

All eyes are on him but Tim is only looking at Superboy. This is important for him to understand even though he doesn’t know why.

_These are his orders._

“To what? Let yourself get beaten to hell?”

“To not lift a hand against the Young Justice team, or their associates,” he says simply, and reciting his Master’s words help him regain his lost composure. His heartbeat slows and his breathing evens out, “To assist you in any tasks necessary until the Buzzards are disposed of.”

“I could have killed you,” Superboy says softly, horror etching into his features. He is not wrong, of course, his super strength could have very easily broken something _vital_ inside Tim, but Red Hawk knew that’s not what vigilantes did. That’s why he had swapped his weapons out before the mission started. There is a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach he can’t quite identify _(pride, but he lies to himself and tries to smother the illogical feelings)_ knowing that even a hot-head like the young clone could so honorably follow such a rule.

“Yes,” is all Tim says, because the empty air feels like it should be filled with something. He is not entirely sure how to respond to those who are not his Master or his cohorts.

Superboy’s face grows pale. He turns away, yanking himself from Batman’s hand, and mumbles something under his breath about picking up where Kid Flash left off on rounding up their team. For a moment, Tim thinks Batman will lash out, strike the young clone down for such insolence and defiance of orders. It is what _his_ Master would do—had done on many occasions that Rad Hawk deserved it.

Nothing happens, the Dark Knight lets Superboy storm off. Kid Flash is assigned Superboy’s previous job in watching Red Hawk. Batman leaves to attend to his own duties, appeased.

“Hey, kid, do you wanna hit the infirmary real quick?” the speedster asks with sincere concern.

Tim hadn’t been so confused in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos patch Tim up, your comments wrap him up in a blanket and make him hot coco.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The parallels between Superboy's past and Red Hawk's present are too stark. Conner is a little lost with how to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank other fics for giving me some muse (and I say 'some' because this chapter is so whimpy small, but eh). This time it was "Bat Son" that got me going, another Billy-centric fic here on AO3. I highly recommend it for Captain Marvel/Bat family fans. =3=
> 
> PSA: I actually have a bit more written for this series, but it's after this story. So, I'll chug on through this, and then posting should be smooth sailing for a one-shot or two after. ;3

Conner opens coms one by one, telling the rest of the Young Justice team to drop whatever it is they’re doing and to rendezvous at Mount Justice ASAP. They’ve finally caught a break with the Buzzard’s, he says, but doesn’t explain how. He’s irritated—no, he’s _pissed off._ He doesn’t feel like walking them all through how they got their hands on a solution individually. Let Batman deal with that later.

“Superboy,” Robin sounds concerned, which is _so_ not what Conner needs right now, “is everything okay? You sound—”

“I’m fine,” he feels a sliver of guilt for taking such a harsh tone with the older boy, but he doesn’t apologize. He feels like if he opens his mouth past the clipped responses he’s giving now, he’ll _really_ tear someone’s head off.

Black Canary has told him more than once his temper is something he needs to work on. Often it has put a wrench in otherwise smooth-running missions, or caused him to spit barbarous words at his friends when in reality they are the last people he wants to hurt. But sometimes things just pile up, and they keep piling up, until everything Conner feels is like the weight of a hundred cars thrown onto his shoulders. He collapses under the pressure and explodes in the only way he knows how: violently.

_“I have my orders”_ Red Hawk had said, and Conner knew from the look in his eyes that the boy had meant it. A coldness settles in the pit of the clone’s stomach; a shiver runs down his spine. That could have been him, that mindless drone of a boy, if the Young Justice team had not broken chain of command and gone off on their own. Conner would still be under the control of the Light. He would still be following orders and mindless and powerless to disobey.

_That could have been him!_

Fear blooms in Conner’s chest, a panic fills his veins; flashes of what his life was before being discovered stain the backs of his eyelids. He will never escape these memories, they will always haunt him, but what dredges up so much hurt now is knowing that Red Hawk is in an even worse environment. That he is still dealing with the kinds of torments Conner will spend the rest of his life trying to forget.

Anger bubbles over and burns at the clone’s seams. Like an endless cycle doomed to repeat itself, the volatile emotion takes the place of the fear and hurt and panic. It is his armor now, against the memories of CADMUS and the reality of his “enemy’s” circumstances. His stance widens and his scowl deepens, when he speaks he knows it will be hardly more than a growl. But that’s okay, he tells himself. Let Canary see his temper as a weakness, he knew otherwise.

As it was, his anger was the only thing keeping him from completely freaking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos throttle Superman for not helping Conner healthily cope with his origins. Your comments *also* throttle Superman, because god damn it man step up to the plate and help your clone with his emotional constipation jfc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhg, couldn't leave the original chapter 4 as is. Doing this at work when I should be, well, working. #YOLO #it'sminimumwageanywayfuckit

The main room of Mount Justice is daunting in the early morning hours as quiet as it is. It’s cold, empty, and seems bleak under the circumstances. The Young Justice’s home away from home intruded on by hollow grief and the stress of constant defeat. The team stand assembled around the holoscreen, their full attention given to Batman as their mission is assigned. A cure had been discovered; a victory in their favor, even if the opportunity was given by the enemy. It took less than an hour for Superboy to contact his teammates and for them to all assemble.

Red Hawk stands to the side, isolated in a room full of children his age, shunned by the majority. _Connor’s fault, we can’t be expected to act any other way,_ M’gann thinks to herself, even as she gives the boy an icy look, _he should have warned us_ he _was here._

“You five will head to Florida with Red Hawk,” the Dark Knight’s voice is booming in the near silent room. He seems, to the team, more withdrawn and cold today. Not that anyone could fault him, “The Justice League is already there helping local law enforcement distribute and properly use the bulk serum Star Labs synthesized from the Reaches’ sample. Riots have broken out across the state. You will be one of the teams assigned crowd control. Your mission is to keep things under control while the Buzzard’s are dealt with.”

Batman’s orders are taken with varying degrees of disapproval.

Wally whines, exaggeratedly plaintive, _“Crowd control?”_

“You’re teaming us up with _it?”_ Artemis’s voice echoes loudly off Mount Justice’s walls, exasperated and shrill, devouring Kid Flashes childish complaint with its aggression, “If you think I’m going to—”

“I do not _think_ , I _expect.”_

The archer looks away, angrybut cowed.

“Look, B,” Nightwing steps in. He doesn’t question his mentor’s orders often, but this, he felt, was something that could definitely lead to _dis_ aster, “I know the Justice League is spread thin, but don’t you think sending us in with Red Hawk is a bit of a risk?”

“If you think teaming up with him is too risky, then you do not fully understand just how _drastically_ overtaxed the Justice League is. So far the Buzzard’s have been a southern coast catastrophe. We’ve been lucky. What do you think will happen when they succeed in crossing state lines? Boarders? Crossing _oceans?_ ”

“What if he turns on us?” Connor bites out, his arms tightly folded over his chest, expression sour.

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so _sure?”_

Hard eyes turn to the clone: “He has his orders.”

Superboy blanches. He turns his glare to the floor and doesn’t question Batman again.

“Anyone else?” the Dark Knight asks, stern.

 _How can we give the Reach any_ ounce _of trust?_ M’gann thinks bitterly, _How could you expect us to work with the very person who tried to_ kill _Wally?_

 

The members of the Young Justice remain silent, their objections clear but with no other solution—with how little man power they have—there is nothing left to be said; the argument is useless. They are boxed in with no other options.

“Then prep,” Batman dismisses them, leaving for the hanger bay, “You leave for Florida in 5.”

The team disburses, the overall mood solemn and heavy. Red Hawk follows after Batman, sensing the tension and wanting to avoid another setback like the confrontation with Superboy. Soon the main room is empty, save for one yellow and red clad speedster.

 _“Crowd control?”_ Wally mouths to himself in disbelief. He looks up at the ceiling, whining, arms spread in exasperation, “Again??”

 

 

 

“I’m not _babysitting,”_ Artemis bites out. She grabs hold of Kid Flash by the shoulder, grip baring no room for argument, and takes off right after they land in Tampa, the city the Young Justice team had been assigned to bring to order. Connor grunts out a _“pass”_ and storms the opposite direction of the irate archer, M’gann smiling a shallow apology before flying after him. Nightwing purses his lips, unhappy with his teams behavior, but lets it slide.

For now.

“Well, Squirt,” he says, turning to a stoic-as-always Red Hawk, his smile small but as genuine as the situation will allow, “Just you and me. Ever done the super hero gig before?”

The name calling visibly chaffs, as Dick knew it would, but Red Hawk just shakes his head ‘no’, posture stiff as he awaits _orders._ It’s sickening, Dick knows, the way the younger boy acts, but for now his behavior will work in their favor.

“Three things you need to remember: civs, baddies, and property. We save civilians, take down the bad guys, and try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. In that _exact_ order. Civilian safety will always take priority over everything else, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Red Hawk answers, perfectly composed and **stoic,** even with the busies and cuts from Superboy’s beating. Even after being snubbed by the team _(by him, he thinks guiltily)_ since the punches had been thrown.

A cold pit gnaws at Dick’s insides.

Nightwing takes their surroundings in. They had landed the bioship on one of the many linking bridges that cut through the city of Tampa, one that was closed and cut off from general traffic and difficult to reach by foot. They couldn’t be sure what whack jobs had joined the frightened mob to take advantage of the chaos, and had taken every precaution. With the way the others had split up, it seemed like he and the kid would be taking over the east side of the city. Dick smiled to himself, and wondered if Red Hawk had ever been to a real baseball stadium before.

“Two more things before we’re off, Squirt, and they’re just as important so pay attention,” Nightwing smirks and ruffles the boys short hair, “Keep up and have _fun_.”

With that, the Boy Wonder takes a running leap from the highway bridge, using his grappling hook to propel himself deeper in the bowls of the city. For a moment Red Hawk hesitates, caught off guard by the sudden change in mood and confused both by the physical contact and his orders to have… _“fun”._

He shakes it off quickly though, appalled by his hesitation. He was disgracing his Master, falling short of expectations by even wasting a moment to ponder his orders. He was a blunt instrument to be _used_ , not _think._ That had never been his mission, and never would, just as it should be. He forced his body into action, jumped from the ledge, and launched himself after Nightwing.

A vessel for his Master’s will, Tim raced into the night, two different missions needing completion, and not a moment more to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two questions: will Bat Son ever be updated and are there any good Tim-centric fics left in the world I haven't read yet??
> 
> Answer is probably no to both tbh and it makes me really sad.

**Author's Note:**

> As this show has been canceled, my muse for this fandom is limited. Updates will be slow going. Comments and kudos, however, are always helpful. Let's me know you're there, and that people actually want more.


End file.
